Books and Covers
by writing.is.an.addiction
Summary: Everyone does it. Judgement is always a factor. Kacie tries to read the whole book before judging. Why won't anyone else? He's a killer. (Better than it sounds and definitely not as cliche!)
1. Prologue

"I just want a cigarette," I grumble, fumbling through my bag for my keys. "It's been two weeks, isn't that good enough?"

"No," the female voice on the other end laughs and I groan. "Why don't you go back to the shop and get the nicotine level adjusted in your juice?"

"It's not that, I think I left my keys at work," I muttered, letting out a breath. "I just want to go to bed."

"Call your landlord," she suggests as a crash sounds from her end. "I have to go, Kacie. Rose, put that-."

"Ever the mother, Mia," I chuckle, shaking my head as I lean against my door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yup," she responds absentmindedly before she scolded her other child and the line clicks. I call my landlord, like she suggested, and he said he would be there soon. A scuffling draws my attention behind me as I hang up and I see someone's shoulder disappear behind the corner. I slide down my door, deciding to wait for my landlord there, but there's another sound. Glancing up, I find a man huddled in front of the door diagonal from my own. He's wearing a baseball cap and his collar is flipped up, hiding his neck, but I can see platinum blonde hair. His shoulders are hunched like he's trying to hide his face and I can't help tilting my head. My landlord had told me about him.

"You just move in here?" I ask and he pauses, his shoulders tensing more. He makes a motion like he's shaking his head, of course, I already knew. He was the complex weirdo. Joey, my landlord, told me he'd lived there for five years. Completely harmless, just kept to himself. I wouldn't be surprised if I were the first to see him this year. "Michaelson, right?"

"What do you want," he bits out, still facing the door but his fist is balling around something. I let out a small laugh.

"Just making conversation; I'm locked out," I shrug and hear keys jingle. "Waiting for Joey." There's a pause before the lock clicks and the door opens. He steps inside and I sigh, my head hits the wood behind me.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys! I know it's been a while, a long while, but what can I say. Inspiration struck after four years of writer's block. Hopefully I'll be posting other stories too, it all depends. Hope you guys enjoy this though! Reviews are love!  
**


	2. Chapter 1

I hit the button at the end of my dripper, inhaling the pomegranate flavoured smoke. It's nothing like a real cigarette, but I promised Mia that I'd quit smoking and I wanted to. She's over by the slide, talking to Rose, who's gone from wailing hysterically to giggling insanely. I smile, remembering the first time I met her on this playground seventeen years ago; both of us around eight. Similar situation, except she was the one crying and she's been my best friend ever since. Even when we parted ways for boarding school.

"That smells delicious." Her voice breaks me out of the reverie and I smile, looking over at her. "So you were saying?"

"Nothing, I was finished," I told her, watching her children chasing one another. They were only a year apart and thick as thieves; I hoped they would stay that way. "I just met the guy who gives everyone the heebie-jeebies."

"Doesn't surprise me," she laughs, shaking her head. "You were always one to draw out the creeps."

"Thanks," I respond dryly.

"You know what I mean," she rolls her eyes as Hugo runs towards us, Rose in tow. "Hey baby."

"Are you coming to my birfday party, Auntie Kace," he asks jumping in front of his mother.

"Of course!" I exclaim, tickling his stomach as I lean forward. Rose stands beside me, wrapping her arms around my neck to give me a hug.

"Does daddy know?" she questions, pressing her cheek against mine and I grab her legs, pulling them so she's sitting on my lap.

"I don't know, we should probably ask Mommy," I send Mia a mischievous look, to which she rolls her eyes again.

"Of course he does, sweetie," she states, starting to stand as she grabs her bag and holds out her hand for Hugo.

"Already?" I whine and she sends me an apologetic look.

"I have to get them to the D-O-C-T-O-R," she tells me and the siblings look between us. It's my turn to roll my eyes.

"Fine, let me know how it goes?"

"Of course," she smiles, taking Rose's hand and I watch them leave the park before standing myself. I brush myself off, picking up my own purse and start back to my apartment. Unlike Mia, I live in a small town. She lives in, what I consider to be, the country with her kids and husband. Neither of us have ever been city people, but we both have travelled into London when the time's called for it. Sometimes I envied Mia; twenty-five years old and already married with kids and a kick ass job that she loved. Even if I did think her husband was an idiot, I was happy for her. I guess I'm just jealous because she's found herself at such a young age, I conclude as I open the door to my apartment. I know she went through a lot though. We communicated a lot through letters in boarding school because of the ocean between us; her parents had chosen to keep her in the United Kingdom, whilst mine had chosen the States. When I finally did come back to the UK, so much had changed in my best friend. I barely recognize her sometimes. A loud knocking disrupts my thoughts and I groan, making my way back to the door.

"Whoa," I yell, grabbing the closest thing to me, "whoa, what the hell do you want?!"

"Relax, I promise, I'm not - I live across the - ."

"Mr. Michaelson?" I drop the phone in my hand and put my hand on my chest. "_What_ are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startled you," he mutters, rubbing the top of his head.

He's wearing a ski-mask.

"Ya look like you're about to rob someone; d'you wanna come in before someone else makes the same mistake? Jesus," I let out a breath, stepping out of the doorway and he glances down the hall, nodding. "You want some tea or something?"

"Uh, no, I just came-."

"Do you always walk around in that thing? I mean, I'm surprised that police haven't been here more often. I mean really?" I turn to face him, hand on hip. "It's ridiculous, you scared the crap out of me, ya weirdo."

"I said I was sorry," he tried but I held up my hand, rolling my eyes. He huffs in annoyance and I see the lids of his eyes, making it seemed like closed his eyes but I turn to the cupboard where I keep tall glasses. "I just came by to tell you I can't accept this." I look over my shoulder to see what he's talking about.

"Why do you-?"

"I've seen you sucking on one of these for the past week or so," he interrupts and I let out a breath, turning to face him once more.

"I got a new one," I shrug, pulling my dripper out of my pocket. "I figured it would be easier than smoking real cigarettes and you can get your juice and stuff delivered right to you so you don't have to sneak around to smoke. Plus, you can smoke inside."

"I still can't-."

"Look, it didn't mean anything, if that's what you're thinking," I set two glasses on my counter and open the fridge to pull out a jug of iced tea.

"Tea," he scoffs, plopping down on a stool and I can't help grinning.

"Make yourself at home," I laugh and he jumps up, head down. "I was just-."

"No, I should-."

"Would ya just calm down and sit, huh? Sheesh," I sighed, pouring his a glass. "Sugar?"

"No, uh, I guess not," he mutters, sitting back down. I nod, setting his glass in front of him and watch him. He lifts the bottom of his mask so that his mouth is accessible and he takes a sip. His lips form a frown of sorts as he nods and I laugh, shaking my head. "Pretty good."

"Ya know," I start, leaning against the counter between us, my eyebrow raised, "for a hermit, you're pretty social."

"Hermit?" he chuckles, leaning against the stool back.

"Well what else do you call not being seen by any tenant in the last five years?" He pauses, looking down at his hands again.

"This is a bad idea."

"I didn't mean to offend you," I say quietly, setting my glass down but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he stands and walks out the door, leaving me in my kitchen alone. I laugh to myself, shaking my head and walk around the counter only to hear yelling from the hallway. I opened my door, sticking my head out, and found Mr. Michaelson trying to get into his apartment and our upstairs neighbour, Burt, yelling at him.

"Kacie, Kacie, are you okay?" he demands as Mr. Michaelson's door slammed shut.

"I'm perfectly fine, we were just having some tea," I smile and he looks at me like I have three heads. "Honestly, Burt, he's our neighbour, there's no need to treat him like a criminal."

"Do you, do you hear yourself?" his voice raises dramatically. "He was wearing-."

"I know what he was wearing, he scared me too when he knocked on my door, but I can assure you, he was more than polite."

"You should be more careful, Kacie," he chastises and I stop myself from rolling my eyes. "Not so trusting."

"I'll say it again, Burt, he's our neighbour. Do you really think Joey would have allowed him to live here if he had something wrong with his past?" That stopped him. He chose not to respond this time and instead picked up his bag, making his way up to his floor. I step out into the hallway, letting out a breath, and knock on Mr. Michaelson's door.

"Mr. Michaelson?" I call, knocking again. "Mr. Michaelson?"

"What?!" he yells and the door swings open. He's taken off his mask. I close my eyes momentarily but quickly reopen them, leaning against the doorframe. The broken, frustrated man before me looks near to tears, but he's too tough to admit that. I blink again and the water framing his eyes is gone, replaced with a glint of pure frustration. "Well?"

"Well, what?" I sigh exasperated. "I just wanted to apologize for Burt. He means well, but like I said earlier, you looked like you were going to rob someone."

"It's better than the truth," he mutters, turning his back on me and walking further into the apartment. I rub my face, slowly following him inside, and find him staring out a huge bay window in what seems to be the living room of his apartment. It was one thing having him in my apartment, but being in his was completely different. He turns around, hands on his hips; he still seems annoyed. "_Well_?"

"I don't know what you're expecting me to say," I tell him slowly and he heaves a frustrated breath. A pregnant moment passes between us before he lamely gestures to his face and my eyebrow raises. Realizing he's serious, I roll my eyes, lifting my shirt. "I'm no stranger to burns."

His eyes pop open, like he's shocked by my reaction, but he stares at my stomach, which gives my a second to look at what he's so seemingly self-conscious about. The burn covering the entire right side of his face and some of his head.

"Fire's a bitch," I shrug, dropping my shirt and his gaze reverts to the ground.

"It's different," he grumbles, his arms folding, almost glaring at me. I let another moment pass before I glance around the place.

"Look, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Burt's intense and apparently protective; I would have freaked out if he came at me like that," I explain but he shrugs, like he's used to it. Which makes me kind of mad. Maybe Burt's right, maybe I am too trusting, but I can't help getting annoyed when everyone makes an assumption about someone just because they look a certain way. He could have gotten burnt for saving a child for all they know.

"Kacie?"

"Huh?" I snap out of my daze and realize my fists are balled.

"You're bleeding?" he tells me uncertainly, nodding to my hands.

"Oh," i mutter absentmindedly, looking down at my hands as he sighs and I head shuffling. He's stood and is making his way into the next room. There's a cut on my hand from my nail and I scrunch up my nose, but another hand enters my vision and I find Mr. Michaelson standing in front of me with an alcohol wipe.

"Drake," he mumbles.

"Hm?"

"My name, it's Drake," he tells me reluctantly.

"Nice to meet you," I smile, watching him wipe my hand with the wipe.


	3. Chapter 2

I reach out but pause, closing my eyes before exhaling a breath and knocking on the door. It swings open and I'm greeted by a very confused Drake. I hold up the cup in my hand and smile.

"Tea?"

He sends me a suspicious look but opens the door further and I follow him into his apartment. Extending my hand, I give him the tea, which he takes before sitting at a chair next to the island in his kitchen.

"So," I trail off. "I didn't really think past offering you tea." He actually laughs and gestures to the seat next to him, which I take.

"Can I try the juice that you have?" He asks, reaching over the counter for the plate I hadn't seen. My eyes widen slightly as my hands come up under my chin, fingers pinching the air.

"Can I have a cookie?" I ask quietly and he chuckles, putting the plate between us, offering me one. I take it, hunching my shoulders slightly, and start nibbling it before realising he's watching me, thoroughly amused. "I'm a weirdo; it's fine. Here."

"I said nothing," he grins, taking my dripper and inhaling. He coughs, grimacing, and it's my turn to laugh. "What in Merlin's name is that?"

"Merlin?" my eyebrow raises. "It's pomegranate. You a Camelot fan?"

"No," he says slowly and I tilt my head. "It's a family saying."

"Ah, okay," I shrug, my focus back on the cookie. "Om nom nom."

"Did you just vocalise eating sounds?" he can't breathe at this point from laughing so hard. "Gods, you're something else."

"I'm fucking endearing," I reply absentmindedly, which only makes him laugh harder and me blush slightly. "Stop it!"

"I can't help it, you're just, with the, hah," he's got his head rested on the counter now and my lower lip sticks out. After glancing up, he puts up his hand, stuttering out an apology, but finally calming down some. "I'm sorry, that was just too good."

"Well I'm glad I amuse you," I shake my head, but can't help smiling some. "So what's on your agenda for today?"

"Work," he takes a bite from his own cookie, before grinning at me and I roll my eyes.

"What do you do?"

"Consulting; mostly from home though."

"Yeah, but what kind?"

"Any kind. Really whatever needs to be done," he shrugs, drinking some more of his tea. "This is really good, where did you get it?"

"You really are a hermit, aren't you," I mutter and he sends me a look. "The bakery down the street, they have a pretty awesome lunch menu too."

"I'll have to check it out," he nods and I look forward, awkwardly swinging my feet, but he doesn't notice. "I also wanted to check out that vape store, where did you say it was?"

"I didn't," I smile, looking back at him. "I thought you were going to order online."

"Well I can do that, but I'd rather taste something before I buy it and am committed to it."

"Fair point," I sigh, itching my nose lightly. "It's called Viper Vapes; it's, well, you go down the street, towards the stoplight and-"

"Why don't you take me there?" he suggests glancing over and I pause, fiddling with my fingers.

"Uh, well-"

"You can just say no," he deadpans, pushing back at his chair and the screech is deafening. "Thanks for the tea, I have to get back to work."

I watch him walk into a room that looks like an office and he closes the door sharply. My face burns as I look back down at my hands, trying to think of what to say. As my feet slide onto the floor, I slip my hands into my pockets and start for the door he's just shut.

"Drake?" I call quietly, but he doesn't answer. "I didn't, I wasn't going to say no. I just didn't think you'd want to go, with, well that is, with me. I'm really awkward sometimes, can you please open the door? I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," I hear before the door opens again. He's standing in the crack, leaning against the doorframe. Weariness marks his eyes like wrinkles on an older person.

"I'd like to go."

"It's alright," he sighs, rubbing his face and I furrow my eyebrows.

"I don't understand, I want to go and now you don't?" He doesn't say anything and I tilt my head but he just shrugs, closing the door again. I stand there for a second longer, hoping he'll come back out, but he doesn't. Scrunching my mouth to the side, I walk back around the counter and pick up my bag, leaving his apartment to go back to my own.

The rest of the day, I spend cleaning and thinking about my morning with Drake. I was kind of hoping he'd ask if I wanted to go to lunch at the bakery and when he didn't, I just figured it was because he liked doing things on his own and wasn't interested, so when he asked me to the vape shop, I just didn't really know what to say. I suppose it was really straight forward; I should have just said yes, but I wanted to go to lunch with him. I wanted him to ask me out. Flopping on my couch, I wrinkled my nose at my childishness. It made me feel like I was incapable of accepting that I couldn't get my way and I'd rejected being friends with him. He seemed really upset that I didn't want to go with him to the store, so maybe I'd thought about it all wrong.

"Ya gotta stop overanalysing everything, Kace," I mutter to myself and try to focus on whatever was on TV, but I can't. I look over at the clock and see that it's close to four. Today was my day to go grocery shopping, but I was so hung up on my childish crush, on a guy that I didn't even know, that I'd let myself get super distracted.

"Bleh."

I get up, picking up my purse and start for my front door. As I open it, I'm met with Drake, his fist ready to knock. He's wearing a baseball cap and that jacket with the collar up.

"Hi?" my voice comes out uncertain but he's looking down at his hands. I see a small bottle of pinkish liquid. "What's up?"

"This," he starts but inhales, looking over my head, annoyance painting his features, "this morning was stupid. I wanted to say I'm sorry for being stubborn."

"It's okay, I was super awkward," I smile nervously and he actually looks at me. "It's kind of to do with my anxiety; I just get really awkward and flustered sometimes. So I'm sorry too."

There's a pause.

"I got you this," he mutters, stiffly offering his hand and I take the bottle. It's pomegranate vape juice. The corners of my mouth stretch into a grin and I close my fist around it.

"Thanks, I'm glad you found the store," I tell him, stepping inside and thankfully, he follows naturally.

"Yeah, it was a lot simpler than I thought it was going to be and their supply is awesome."

"I know!" I exclaim, jumping on my couch and crossing my legs. "I love that you can essentially make any flavour you want and they'll add however much nicotine you want!"

"Definitely makes the whole quitting thing easier," he smiles and I return the gesture. He's sitting next to me, our knees touching, and I feel my cheeks getting warm. "So, uh, do you mind if I ask about the anxiety?"

"Huh?" I blurt out confused and he looks at me sheepishly. "Oh, yeah, no, that's fine. I mean, it's so common nowadays, I think it's silly that people are embarrassed of it or think it's bad to talk about. It's just another thing that makes me who I am; I don't mind talking about it."

"Oh, okay, good," he nods, shifting to face me more. "So, what, I mean, what is it for you?"

"I'm just a worrier, which leads to over thinking. I also don't like crowds all that much. It can also just depends on my stress level. Like the more stressed out I am, the worse my anxiety can be," I shrug drumming my knee. "I don't faint or anything like that. I just can't breathe sometimes; I'll get panic attacks."

"You say it like it's not a big deal," he comments slowly and I laugh lightly.

"Well, I guess it is, but it's something that I'm so used to, that it's just fact at this point. It doesn't mean it isn't scary or doesn't suck, but it just, is, I guess."

"Do you have to take something to calm down?"

"Depends. I mean, if I have to drive, I don't take anything, but if not, I do have fast acting anti anxiety meds. They don't stop me from feeling shitty, they just make me not freak the fuck out while I'm feeling shitty. Which is really nice a lot of the time. I also have breathing techniques."

"Seems like a lot to deal with." I shrug, not really knowing what else to say without repeating myself and he inhales abruptly. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot or anything."

"No, I think it's nice when people want to understand," I laugh. "It makes life easier."

"I can imagine," he smiles. We sit there for a few more minutes before he stands, fingering his pockets. "I should probably get going."

"Okay," I nod, "thanks for the juice."

"Yeah," he's still smiling. He turns for the door and when he opens it, he looks back at me. "I'll bring the tea tomorrow."

As the door clicks shut, my cheeks hurt from beaming so hard.


End file.
